


Hallownest's Recovery

by demi_gray



Category: Hollow Knight, Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: And sheo just rambles about his family to a stranger, Dirtmouth (Hollow Knight), Dream No More Ending, M/M, Myla has two twin siblings, Other, Post-Game, There are ocs in here but they’re just. minor ones based off of enemies for story clarity, also how nailsmith is immune to the infection for plot reasons, and how bugs can expel the infection from their bodies with void and willpower, because that’s a thing totally definitely I think, city of tears, gravedigger uses he/she pronouns because i can, greenpath, greenpath (hollow knight), retelling of how nailsmith doesn’t get killed and gets and existential crisis, sly has a father/son relationship with the nailmasters, uhhh more character tags will be added as I write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-03-09 21:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18925246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demi_gray/pseuds/demi_gray
Summary: things happen offscreen and post gameIn all seriousness tho:The Little Knight had made many small, positive changes in Hallownest during their stay, but...now that they’re gone, what’s to do?





	1. Somehow, the Nailsmith Stays Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nailsmith hollow knight has an existential crisis and finds a boyfriend Within the Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small warning for the whole "I'm nailsmith, i made a pure nail and now i want to die" thing if you're sensitive abt that

    The Nailsmith had always figured that he would be making weapons forever. On and on, smacking his hammer into hot metal over and over and over again. It wasn’t particularly stimulating, but it was a living, and whoever came to his shop paid him.

    Not that he was really in the spending business either, but whatever.

    Now, though, he wasn’t sure what business he should be in. A perfect, pure nail...all he had ever wanted, ever needed to make, or so he’d thought. There was no painful prick at his shell, no gorgeously crafted metal through his midsection.

    No more work to do.

    The Nailsmith was not going to be making nails forever, not anymore.

    It was the first time in a very long time that the Nailsmith had come down from his fungal throne atop the city, and years of spores and soot sloughed off of his shell in the rain.

    The husks of soldiers in the city didn’t dare bring him harm, as he was the one who always sharpened their nails; if only they knew that he wouldn’t be doing so any longer! They hardly paid him mind, hardly turned their empty-minded heads at his passing.

    Perhaps if he climbed out of the city, he would fall and be hurt, and not have to deal with the confusion that pummeled his fragile thinking. Curse that little knight and their refusals, their silent demeanor and the gall they had to give him geo that he would never have the time to spend even if he wanted to.

    Disappointingly, Nailsmith didn’t slip while climbing the stairs, and wasn’t crushed by an elevator, and wasn’t destroyed by any nobles (they just ran away), and made it to a bench mostly unscathed. What bad luck! He rested on the bench for a time, watching the rain fall through the window.

    It was a quick trip through to the Crossroads, and up another elevator to the more challenging leg of Nailsmith’s trip. Here, the husks did not recognize him as one who repaired nails, and he surprised himself when he ran away and hid from them. They reeked of infection, the smell of which was usually washed away by water and the waft of spores in his smithing shop. It was such an unfamiliar and strong stench that despite its alluring nature the Nailsmith was repelled. He did not favor change, and already had enough problems to deal with as it was.

    The little town in the Crossroads was deathly still, devoid of life except for a couple drab vengeflies and a suspicious humming coming from an isolated hut. It was full of even more unfamiliar smells, though these were more akin to the spores and perhaps flowers.

    Nailsmith climbed up to the ledge where the hut (and a bench) sat, more intrigued than he would like to admit. The hut was glowing with a pink that was perhaps a little too unnatural, but it was much more inviting than the vivid orange that awaited below.

    Inside was a fat slug of sorts, what she was didn’t really matter, and she looked up from her cauldron in pleasant surprise as the Nailsmith entered. “Oh! A customer, someone other than that dashing little rascal! Welcome, welcome!!” She beckoned him.

    Hesitantly Nailsmith stepped further into the small hut, glancing around in the claustrophobic space that would be more inviting without the giant woman, her cauldron, and all the little trinkets and organics hung to dry on the walls. “Um.”

    “Hello, hello!” the slug smiled cheerily. Now that the Nailsmith got a better look at her, he noticed she was much adorned as the walls around her. “My name is Salubra, and this is my little charm shop!” she greeted. “Do you collect charms?”

    “Erm. I’m...more of a nail person,” Nailsmith replied. “Sort of.”

    “Ah, nails!” Salubra nodded knowingly. “I do have a lovely little charm here,” she continued, pulling out a small, pointy thing from behind herself, “that increases the range of your nail, so you can strike enemies from further away! Very useful!”

    Nailsmith blanched a bit. “Oh, uh! I’m not a fighter, I. I _make_ nails, not use them.”

    “Ohh!” Salubra blinked. “So you make things! Much like I make these charms!” She waved the nail-extender cheerily and then set it back down. “Then what brings you to the crossroads, to my little hut?”

    “I’m...not sure,” the Nailsmith answered honestly. “I’m rather lost lately.”

    “Lost? There’s a mapmaker in the town of Dirtmouth, on the surface.” Salubra pointed up.

    “No, not lost in that way,” he explained. “Uh. The ‘purpose in life’ kind of lost.”

    “Poor dear,” Salubra sympathized. “I’m no therapist, so I’m afraid I can’t help you with your problem, but perhaps someone down in the town can! It’s so lively down there, you know?”

    Nailsmith decided not to tell her that she was the only one left. “It’s ok.”

    “Perhaps purchasing a charm would make you happier? It’s not a permanent fix, but I do have some other charms that might be more up your alley!”

    “I. I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I’m interested right now…” Nailsmith told her politely. “Maybe I’ll come back later…?”

    “Oh, don’t worry about it, dear!” Salubra said, all smiles, though Nailsmith could easily tell that she had deflated a bit. “I’ll be here! Come by any time.”

    It was back out to the dark and dismal Crossroads for the Nailsmith, and he scurried past the ominous, torched Mound. Too scary for his taste. He’d missed the rope that led to Dirtmouth; not like he would have noticed it anyway. Past the room of grubs whose number was growing by the day; Nailsmith was not a fan of the cutesy sounds.

    Through the shaft of stilled pulleys and–greenery!

    Nailsmith stared at the bushy leaves covering the sign outside of the tunnel. The vines were covering much of the text, so he couldn’t read it, but he was instantly intrigued: these were _living things!_ Bright green leaves that waved in the wake of Vengefly wings, beckoning passing travelers’ gazes.

    The Nailsmith entered Greenpath.

    It was humid and hot and abuzz with life. Full of green fuzzy creatures that blended into their surroundings. It would be an ethereal beauty if it weren’t for the infection and general danger of some of the bugs. He wasn’t especially fond of the Fool-Eaters that often nipped at his toes.

    The gigantic Moss Charger was not a problem considering there was an easy path above it, but Nailsmith was still wary of the large leafy thing that prowled on the lower floors. It was enough being surprised left and right by the little Mosscreeps that popped up from the grassy floor.

    He continued on.

    Spikes and spikes and spikes lined the ceiling and floor of this corridor, and Nailsmith shivered at their grotesque windings. These were living spikes, thorns on thick and ugly vines. Even more jarring were the large, spike-shelled bugs that hovered among the hallway, complementing the already prickly walls: Durandas.

    The first one stared back at him with large, curious and unfortunately bright orange eyes. It was passive, flying in place and doing no more than being an obstacle.

    Hesitantly Nailsmith came to the edge of the platform before the ugly spikes, and looked closer into the bug’s eyes. It blinked at him and faltered in the air for a moment. Nailsmith began to feel a pitiful emotion wash over him, the same he always felt for the husks in the City. This large bug was no different.

    Perhaps it was more solemn than it had to be, but Nailsmith felt he had to do something for this bug. He reached up and laid a hand on its shell for a moment in solidarity; one free, one burdened by thought. As much as Nailsmith wanted to succumb to the infection, he was so used to avoiding it to keep his smithing head clear that he had no _true_ desire to become one with the light. No one really did, but they didn’t even have time to realize before the precious mind the kingdom granted to them was whisked away.

    The Duranda blinked at him again, then closed its eyes and Nailsmith was surprised when it gently nuzzled into his hand. An affectionate sort? But weren’t all those infected...of the same mind?

    Nailsmith realized that the Duranda was crying. Orange tears streamed down its face and it began to shake, pressing closer into Nailsmith. He stumbled backwards, trying and failing to avoid being trapped in-between shell spikes and gloppy eyes.

    Infectious tears blobbed down from the Duranda’s eyes and pooled at Nailsmith’s feet, stinging his shell and feet and disintegrating into mist as it settled. He could feel the Duranda’s body pressing into his and he couldn’t really get away, because when he tried to back away the large bug just went with him.

    It seemed to be an eternity before the orange substance had stopped falling from the Duranda, and by the end of it Nailsmith was dizzy from the mist, shaking blank and bright thoughts from his head.

    The Duranda finally backed away and stared at Nailsmith again with white, empty eyes. It blinked.

    Nailsmith stared back, shocked out of his dizzy stupor by the sudden absence of infection in the bug and after a moment it proceeded to nuzzle at him again, cooing this time. “ _Thank you, thank you,_ ” came feminine murmurs from within the armored shell as it embraced him with spikes and legs.

    “H-huh?” Nailsmith said, squished on the sides by the Duranda’s little legs.

    “ _Safety,_ ” it said, suddenly backing off and clapping its front legs together. “ _Safe safe safe!!_ ”

    “What?”

    “ _Cured!!! Cured,_ ” it insisted. “ _No more light! Saved!!_ ”

    “Saved?”

    “ _You_ saved!!”

    Nailsmith blanched and shook his head. “I. I don’t know.”

    The Duranda held out one leg. “M’name’s Stump!”

    It was a few excruciatingly awkward moments later before Nailsmith shook her hand. “Nailsmith.”

    “Ohh, nail? Nails? You like nails??” Stump asked enthusiastically.

    “Well, I–”

    “There is a nail wielder living here,” she interrupted, pointing down the spiked hallway. “Nail _master_. Sheo he says. Paints.”

    “Uh.”

    “You like nails? He likes nails too. Should meet.”

    “I don’t–um. Who???” Nailsmith was trying to process a lot of information right now.

    “Must thank you. ‘ll fly you to Sheo. We are friends now?” Stump asked, tilting her body. When Nailsmith didn’t respond, she simply said “We are friends,” and nodded decidedly. “Climb onto back,” she told him, turning and landing on the ground.

    “Uh. The spikes?”

    “Won’t hurt you! Sit in-between. ‘ll take you to Sheo. Nailmaster. You like nails?”

    “I do, but–”

    “Climb then. Won’t hurt. ‘ll be careful.”

    Nailsmith gave up on arguing with her and clambered precariously atop her shell, holding onto a spike for dear life as she rose into the air.

    It was almost a maze getting through the viney hallway, since it twisted and turned up and down drastically at places. More Duranda lined the passage, hardly paying attention to their sister who carried a beetle on her back.

    “Up! Up!” she exclaimed, probably to herself, and they rose up another, smaller passage, Stump narrowly making it through. At the top was a small building and a bench. Well, actually it was a...door with a long corridor, and _then_ the small building.

    “Sheo’s house,” Stump said, settling herself down beside the bench. “Likes nails. Go greet!!”

    “But…”

    “Go go go!!” she said excitedly, bouncing a bit. “Nailmaster Sheo lives here! Likes nails!”

    Nailsmith stared at her, and just as he was finally going to enter the house, someone came _out of it._

    A large and burly bug bustled out of the door, clearly annoyed. He wasn’t much taller than Nailsmith himself, but his wide figure well made up for it. He wore an apron that was covered in paint and he stood with hands on his hips, surveying the visitors.

    Nailsmith stood awkwardly in front of him and Stump seemed to have conveniently fallen asleep.

    Sheo stared down at Nailsmith with dark eyes. “Hello there,” he said finally, not unkindly. “Was it you making such a racket out here?”

    “Uh.” Nailsmith glanced at Stump. “Sorry.”

    Sheo followed his gaze and sighed heavily. “Now how did that thing get here? Mind explaining?”

    “She, uh.” Nailsmith faltered over his words. “Maybe I should...start from the beginning?” he decided after a few garbled attempts.

    Sheo looked him over, expression softening. “My name is Sheo,” he said, holding out hand, which Nailsmith shook. “You might know me as Nailmaster Sheo from the stories, but that’s behind me. I’m Paintmaster Sheo now.”

    Nailsmith suddenly felt guilty about his name. “I’m Nailsmith.”

    “You make nails?”

    “Yes,” was the automatic reply, then instantly amended with an unsure “No?”

    Sheo stood still in thought for a moment, arms crossed, tapping his chin. A silence rose over them thickly until Sheo spoke again. “Why don’t you come inside. I’d imagine you took some trials getting here,” he said, stepping to the side gesturing as invitation. “What with the spikes and the Duranda. I’m surprised there isn’t a scratch on you.”

    “That’s the odd thing,” Nailsmith began, stepping into the doorway with Sheo close behind. “See, the Duranda was…” He faltered as he got into the main room of the little house, as it seemed much more roomy than it was from the outside. Sheo bumped into him, not expecting such an abrupt halt.

    Nailsmith hurriedly skittered forward, blushing in embarrassment. “Sorry. I just…”

    Sheo sighed. “I know, it’s a bit messy. Curse of being an artist, I suppose.”

    “No, it’s not that, I just…” Nailsmith approached what appeared to be a work-in-progress painting of a hot spring. “I’ve never really seen this type of art before. Flat paintings, and such...rough? Free? Uhm.” He struggled for the word for a second or two. “Loose strokes.”

    Sheo’s expression softened some more and he broke into a smile. “You really think so? I’m finally starting to feel satisfied with my style.”

    Nailsmith nodded, looking closer at the painting. It seemed to glow with life and character; Sheo had clearly been to a hot spring before judging by the detail lovingly added onto the canvas.

    “So you have interest in creation then?” Sheo asked, coming to stand beside Nailsmith.

    “I guess I do,” Nailsmith replied. “I made nails, at least. I’ve just lived in the City most of my life so that architecture is all I’ve been seeing.”

    “You come all the way from the City of Tears?” Sheo said in surprise. “You really did travel a long distance.”

    “I didn’t much notice,” said the other, shrugging. “I think I was pretty distracted.”

    Sheo scuttled to one corner of the room and began shuffling around inside a cabinet. Soon he brought out a large vase and a small cup, which he poured water from the larger container into. “Here,” he said, handing the drink to Nailsmith. “Really, you have to be tired. You said something about the Duranda?”

    Nailsmith hesitated, but decided to take the cup of water and took a sip. It was definitely more refreshing than spore-filled city water or acid. “Yes, the Duranda,” he began. “She says her name is Stump.”

    “Says? You mean that one isn’t infected?”

    “Not anymore. She claims that I’m the one who saved her, but I don’t really know how.” Nailsmith shook his head. “But she insisted I come and see you because I have ‘nail’ in my name.”

    Sheo snorted. “Nails. Nasty things, but they’re useful and can become art if you try hard enough. Ever engraved a nail?”

    Nailsmith shuddered. “Once. A...a pure nail.”

    “A pure nail!” Sheo nodded. “Impressive! How much pale ore did it take to do that?”

    “Six-ish chunks of it,” replied Nailsmith. “It was for this little bug...very small, like a child, but their nail…” He shook his head, having trouble talking about it. “Such potential, and to think it started out as a dull, cracked old thing.”

    “A small bug?” Sheo mused. “They didn’t happen to have two horns? A little cloak?”

    Nailsmith looked to him in surprise. “You’ve met them then?”

    Sheo nodded. “They came here some time ago. Powerful little thing! Asked to learn my nail art, as if I were still a true Nailmaster!” he chuckled. “It’s the rule of us Nailmasters to pass down our skills to those worthy, though, and this little bug…” He reached behind where he sat and pulled out a canvas; painted upon it was that tiny knight, their nail slashing through the air. “I’m master of the Great Slash, though I never actually use it anymore. They learnt it from picture alone, though! It was rather impressive.”

    “Mm,” Nailsmith murmured. “Imposing for one so young-looking.”

    “Indeed.” Sheo set the painting down beside him so it could be on display. “Strange thing. I do wonder what their goal is to be.”

    “Strange thing,” Nailsmith echoed, thinking back to how the knight had not killed him when he had asked for it. What a _strange_ decision.

    “You’re from the city then?” Sheo inquired, interrupting Nailsmith’s thoughts. “How is it these days? It’s been an age since I was last there.”

    “Still standing. The buildings, at least,” was the answer.

    “So the infection’s spread as low as that place?”

    A nod. “Yes. I think it may be over the entire kingdom,” Nailsmith told him solemnly. “That knight...I think they’ve travelled everywhere, judging by the amount of ore and all the little trinkets they kept under their cloak. Four thousand geo all at once…”

    “Goodness.”

    “Once they came to me with bits of crystal from the mines on their clothing,” Nailsmith recalled. “And once with chips of a bug’s shell. They probably cut down any foe that stands in their way.”

    “I don’t doubt it,” Sheo agreed. “But enough about them; you seem distressed.”

    Nailsmith flinched. “I’m fine.”

    “Then why would you come wandering all the way from the City, and right to my home no less?”

    “Coming here was mostly Stump’s fault,” Nailsmith insisted. “She is very pushy.”

    Sheo sat back and examined Nailsmith once more. “Where did you meet her, then? Surely she’s not the full story.”

    Nailsmith sighed. “It’s kind of sad. I, uh. Don’t really want to talk much more about it.” He shook his head. “As surprised as I am about how easy to talk to you you are, I’m not ready.”

    Sheo gave a soft hum of acceptance. “That’s fine. Things can be emotional.” He smiled. “If _you’ve_ said enough, then I don’t think _I_ have. Do you want to hear about me?”

    “Only if you’re okay with talking about it.”

    Sheo chuckled. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve had plenty of time to think things over.”

    “If you’re sure. Go ahead.” Nailsmith _was_ rather interested.

    “A long time ago my brothers and I were training under the Great Nailsage,” began Sheo. “Have you heard of him?”

    “Maybe,” Nailsmith said. “But it’s been a while since the bugs in Hallownest were one for conversation.”

    Sheo chuckled. “It’s fine. This was hundreds of years ago, mind you.” He didn’t even pause when Nailsmith gave a surprised start. “I have two brothers, Mato and Oro. I’m not sure exactly where they are now, but they are still in Hallownest. Probably far away by now, though. Hallownest is a large kingdom.”

    “How big? I mean, I know the city is ridiculously vast,” Nailsmith cut in, “but…”

    “That way,” Sheo pointed, “Is the Lake of Unn. That’s about as far as it goes in that direction; Unn was very picky about borders. And that way,” he continued, pointing in the opposite direction, “is the crossroads, and the city and the lake above, and the resting grounds, all the way to the edge of the kingdom where the Wyrm’s shell lies. And that’s not counting all that’s under us.” He grinned. “Never go to Deepnest if you can help it.”

    “I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” Nailsmith murmured. “So…?”

    “Right! My brothers and I,” Sheo nodded. “A long time ago we trained under the Nailsage, Sly. This wasn’t too far before the Palace vanished, and the kingdom along with it. We each have a different skill: I the Great Slash, Mato the Cyclone Slash, and Oro the Dash Slash.

    “Even with our skills we were still underneath the status of the Great Five. The five knights who protected the King, Queen and their kin. Hegemol was always my favorite, although...well, nevermind. They’re all gone now as far as I know. Vanished when the Palace did. That’s when everything started to fall apart, including my relationship with my family.

    “Sly was devastated and ran off immediately. The three of us managed to keep it together for some time, but Sly’s absence really got to Oro and soon he went away too. Mato and I parted on good terms, but I don’t know where he is and I’m sure he doesn’t know where I am either.

    “I’ve found solace in art; where I first thought my whole life was about the blade, I now prefer the brush.” Sheo smiled and glanced at the messy room fondly.

    “That was some heavy stuff,” Nailsmith murmured quietly, burying his face in his cup of water in embarrassment. He felt as if he shouldn’t have been there to hear Sheo’s story.

    “It’s ok. To be honest I’ve rehearsed this story to Mosscreeps who can’t even hear me.” Sheo smiled again and blushed. “It’s sort of relieving to be able to tell someone who can actually respond.”

    Nailsmith was silent, staring off at nothing and everything in the room. Painting...and so beautifully, too. He sighed and said, even quieter than before, “You know...I think that our little bug friend is very wise.”


	2. Sly? No, More About the Mayor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short bit involving sly and then the rest of the chapter is about elderbug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i combined gravedigger and elderbug's graveyard friend into one character and since they had conflicting pronouns i decided "ok gravedigger he/she genderqueer" thats why the pronouns alternate

Sly wasn’t too surprised when the little Knight entered his shop, but he was relatively taken aback when a larger bug came in after them. It was a beetle who looked out of his element. Sly squinted suspiciously. “Anything I can do for you two?” he asked not unkindly. “As long as you have the geo for it, of course.”

The Knight began to hop from toe to toe happily and looked at the Beetle with them. “Er. Ghost here would like you to step outside,” he translated halfheartedly, but Ghost seemed doubly pleased.

“And what for?” Sly inquired, leaning on the countertop. “This little rascal isn’t the _most_ trustworthy.”

Ghost pouted instantly, whipping out a three-pronged charm from their cloak and making exasperated noises and movements. They seemed very worked up about such a passive comment from one such as Sly! Perhaps in his way of speaking they assumed he still disliked them despite being bestowed as a master of the nailarts.

Frustratingly the tiny knight grabbed Sly’s hand and with surprising strength dragged him from his shop and out into the open. “Hey!” Sly exclaimed. “How dare you! After I–I…” Sly halted outside the door and Ghost dropped his hand, a smug look on their face. The beetle hurried out after them.

“Dear Nailsage!” Sheo exclaimed. He knelt in respect. “It’s been an age, father.”

Sly was frozen for a moment, but he quickly regained himself. “You sound like Mato,” he huffed. “There’s no need for formalities, you silly oaf.”

Sheo stood up immediately, staring down at his teacher. “Well?” Sly asked. “Am I going to get a hug or not?”

“Oh!” Sheo smiled, bending down and scooping Sly up into an embrace. “I’m so happy to see you, father!” he said.

“Me too,” Sly replied. Once he had been set down he got a better look at Sheo. “Now what’s all this paint all over you?”

Sheo blushed, looking uncomfortable. “I, ah. Over all these years I grew tired of the nail and took up art instead. I hope you are not disappointed in me.”

Sly sighed and shrugged. “To be honest? I don’t care much. You seem to have taught this little one well despite everything,” he said, rapping Ghost on the shoulder. “I have hobbies too. Like this shop.” He jabbed a finger behind at the hut he’s emerged from.

“It’s...not just a hobby, father,” Sheo explained. “I don’t consider myself to be much of a Nailmaster any longer.”

Sly eyed him. “And after all my hard work?”

Sheo flinched. “I, uh.”

But then Sly chuckled, holding back greater laughter. “It’s okay, Sheo. After all these years, I’ve been neglecting the nail as well. The world has changed.” He looked up to his son. “Just promise me that you haven’t forgotten how to fight.”

* * *

 

The Elderbug was rather bewildered by the arrival of visitors in the town; so many new people had been coming through ever since that small bug had arrived in Hallownest. Some sort of miracle had followed in their wake, bringing folk old and new into Dirtmouth.

Bretta, Sly, those he already knew, and the mapmaker and his wife were familiar now. Why, Elderbug supposed that even Zote, the annoying little mar that he was, was a member now.

But all these visitors coming through...the bug with his hood and shield who gave no more but a nod before vanishing into the well. The chanting from the doorway off past the graveyard. The Stag within the station. And now, a beetle and a giant, hulking bug had come to town, led by that small miraclemaker. The town was much more lively now! It was becoming a family once more.

And speaking of the Knight, Elderbug had not seen them for some time. What was going on down below, in those infernal caves? Recently the well had been giving off an orange glow, and an alluring stench had begun to rise from within. Elderbug had considered going into the well many, many times, but his reclusive, and dare I say cowardly, nature kept him from moving any more than ten feet from the bench.

He had been feeling a bit better about himself since the little knight had given him the beautiful white flower, and he had begun to latch onto his dreams of being an adventurer, but it was not enough to make him actually go do something. He was certainly not in any shape to be running around where there were dangerous bugs prowling about.

Perhaps he would go to the graveyard today. He was feeling marginally more brave, you know, and it would be good to speak to his old friend.

Once again the chanting came from the door in the cliff beyond, but Elderbug frowned and steeled himself. Who or whatever it was, it hadn’t noticed him last time, and he was still rather good at running about of necessity.

He shuffled up to the grave of his old friend, her faded name printed neatly across the stone.

_Gravedigger._

Not a very impressive or even kind name, but bugs are often named after their occupation. Gravedigger was, indeed, the caretaker of the graveyard, and Elderbug had loved him in all her dusty, mysterious glory. He would surely be beating him up for not visiting her in so long had she still been alive to do so. Elderbug smiled at the thought.

“Hello, old friend,” he murmured, staring at the gravestone. “I’m sorry it’s been a while,” he continued. “I wish you were here. The town is beginning to grow again, Gravedigger! More people have come to visit and live here. It’s so…lively here…” He glanced up at a rise in volume of the incantations from the cave and took a few steps back.

In a sudden rush of movement the chanter emerged from its hiding place and out into the open, approaching Elderbug with a _whoosh_ and proceeding to look him up and down.

Elderbug let out an undignified squeak and backed up immediately.

The bug was heavyset and squat, yet large; most of this girth came from her big head, the rest from her cloak. “You have regrets,” she snapped after a moment. “I can sense them from my home.”

“What?”

She glared at him. “Don’t think I can’t smell them. I heard you, too.”

Elderbug stood his ground. “Are you the one making all that creepy racket?” he asked. “If I’d known you were a bug, I’d have invited you to live in town.”

She stared at him. “Invited me to–what?? No, no. I do not live among bugs, and ones with so many regrets, too.”

“Then why are you so near to our town?” Elderbug replied, surprised at his own snark reply. “And the graveyard, for that matter?”

The bug stared at him again, putting her hands on her hips with an indignant huff. “Dear sir, I–”

And before she could finish, the ground began to rumble with a deep vibrations. Instinctively Elderbug clung to the other bug; she didn’t complain. The whole world seemed to shake around them, and an ethereal shriek burrowed itself into both bugs’ cores.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the quake came to a halt and a rush of quiet came over the area. Elderbug couldn’t even hear Zote yammering on anymore, as he too had gone silent.

Then a rush of air whooshed out from the ground, and all around them, the ghosts of Dirtmouth came into focus. Old fragile bugs, young bugs with marks on their shells, and even…

“So that’s how it is, huh?” came an annoyed voice. “I go and bury you all, and then you have to get up and start talking again?”

“Where are we?” asked another.

“I thought that I died.”

“Oy, I remember you!”

“Ah, hullo guys.”

“Gravedigger!” Elderbug exclaimed, running straight through some of the ghosts (“Hey, watch it!” “Whoa there!” “Huh??”) to approach his old friend.

“Oh hello there,” she snapped at him. “Finally come to visit?? And why are all these...these...ghosts??? Up and about??”

“Gravedigger–”

“Ugh. I hate all these mysteries of hallownest,” Gravedigger continued, waving his hand. “Infections and then ghosts. Lovely time we’re having.”

“I missed you,” Elderbug said.

“Well you hardly seemed to notice me whenever you came to take my job! And last time you ran away from her!” He pointed to the bug with a large head.

Elderbug deflated. Yes, this was very like Gravedigger to act like this, and she didn’t seem to know that she was also dead.

Another rumble and a hiss from below met their attention, and then the ghosts began to fade with sighs. Only Gravedigger remained, seemingly just as surprised at the departure of the translucent bugs as the rest of them. “Hmph,” he said. “Well, that takes care of something.”

“Gravedigger, I…” Elderbug didn’t have the courage to tell her that she was dead.

Gravedigger huffed. “I’m rather disappointed. Not exactly mad, but disappointed,” he went on. “I mean, it’s like you couldn’t see me until now! Were you angry at me or som…” Gravedigger did not finish, for she too faded from sight.

Elderbug flinched, grasping at the air where his friend had been seconds before. “Gravedigger??”

“See, you have these idiotic regrets,” insisted the large-headed bug. “And now all this...this event hasn’t helped!”

Two bugs from the town approached, Sly and Bretta. “Are you okay?” Sly asked Elderbug, giving glances to the newcomer but mostly ignoring her. “Iselda was almost buried in her maps, what with them all falling from the shelves.”

Bretta seemed hesitant to approach at the sight of the unfamiliar bug, but the unfamiliar bug wasn’t hesitant at all, scurrying up to her. “Ah, you. Your regrets are more manageable. Though they are more...grey than black.”

“H-huh?” Bretta stammered.

“Now now, you!” Sly scolded. “You’re scaring her. Who do you think you are? And where did you even come from?”

“I am Jiji,” Jiji said indignantly, lifting her chin. “And I help those with regret!”

“Ah, shut it,” Sly huffed, waving a hand. “Regret can’t be slapped away like a vengefly. You’re welcome in town but keep it to yourself.” He walked past her, gently turning Bretta around. “Let’s go.”

They left, and after a moment Jiji hurried after them, already beginning a one-sided argument about her services and leaving Elderbug alone in the graveyard.

Elderbug wasn’t alone for long, though, because soon yet another visitor rose from the well almost majestically. She wore a cloak of shocking red, a contrast to the dark grays and blues of the rest of the place. She turned to look at Elderbug, and a sharp needle on her back glinted.

Elderbug froze in place, becoming more and more unsure of things as everything happened around him.

This new bug approached him and gave a slight bow of acknowledgement. “You are the figurehead of this town, are you not?” she asked him. After a few moments Elderbug managed a yes. She nodded knowingly. “I am Hornet. You may let your citizens know that the infection plaguing the kingdom has been eradicated and it is safe to travel the kingdom. The stagways are open, no?”

“Huh?”

“It is over.”

“Over?” Elderbug said. “Is that...is that what the rumbling and all the ghosts were about?”

Hornet gave a pause and then nodded. “A great power, encased in dreams, was destroyed. It makes sense that it would rouse some lingering thoughts.”

“Lingering…” Elderbug stopped. “There were so many here.”

“It is a graveyard,” Hornet replied as if he did not know, and reached under her cloak to pull out a magnifying glass-shaped thing with a spiraling wheel where the glass would be. She held it out, waving it around a bit. “Yes, there is...one ghost here,” she told Elderbug. “The rest must have moved on or are too weak and faded to be heard.” She sheathed the object.

“W-wait, one ghost still here?” A nod from Hornet. “Can I talk to them with that thing you had??”

Hornet stared at him liberally, then took the thing back out. She hummed for a moment, then said, “I suppose you could. You don’t know how to use it properly, so I have no qualms with you borrowing it.” She handed it to Elderbug, and it gave off a fuzzy hum in his hand. “I will be in town. Please return it when you are finished.”

And she turned away and went.

Elderbug stood still for a moment, but soon he began to hear a soft crying, and turned to see Gravedigger looking rather forlorn. “A ghost?” she asked him, clasping her hands. “Did I...am I dead?”

Elderbug instantly attempted to hug him, but he went right through. “Oh dear.”

“Now I think I realize what’s been going wrong,” Gravedigger said. “Isn’t that a sick joke. I’ve been dead this whole time! No wonder I just let you dig the graves…”

“Sorry,” Elderbug said, though he was unsure what he was apologizing for. “I didn’t…”

Gravedigger sighed. “It’s been so long. When did we last talk?”

“Right before you...uh. Died I think,” Elderbug answered awkwardly. “Um. Do you think that you’ll, well, ‘linger’ for a little bit longer?”

Gravedigger thought. “I think so. I don’t really feel like I want to leave yet.”

“Okay.”

She looked at him. “You can check on the town now, if you want. I’ll still be here. There’s so much we need to talk about, so I don’t plan on fading away.”

“Okay,” Elderbug said again with a smile. “I suppose I should get going. I’ll try to come visit more often.”

“You keep an eye on that Jiji. I don’t trust her,” Gravedigger told him.

“I will,” promised Elderbug, already walking away (and having trouble saying goodbye). “Uh. See you soon.” Gravedigger waved, and after moving past the gates he had vanished, out of range of the device Hornet had lended.

Hornet was resting on the town bench, chatting up a storm with Sly like the two of them were old friends that hadn’t seen each other in years. This appeared to be the case as they were comparing stories, some of these stories incuding adventures Elderbug didn’t know Sly had been on in all the years he’d known him.

“Ah, finished?” Hornet asked as Elderbug approached.

Elderbug nodded and handed the object back to her and it disappeared into her cloak. “Thank you,” he told her genuinely. “So many kind things have been happening to me lately. I don’t much understand it, but I’m grateful.”

“Elderbug,” Sly began, “this is Hornet, daughter of Beast Herrah and the Pale King, and is an old friend of mine. Hornet, this is Elderbug. He’s very kind and has watched over the town for a long time.”

Hornet gave another bow of greeting. “Yes, he met me a few moments ago, but it is good to be properly introduced.”

Elderbug gave a slightly deeper bow. “Y-yes. I hadn’t realized that you were royalty…?”

Hornet gave a snort, an amused one. “There’s no need for hightly overt formalities. I prefer to treat others as friends, not subjects.”

“Ah.”

Sly grinned. “I haven’t seen her in years. Apparently she’s been traveling other kingdoms outside of Hallownest.”

“I only recently returned,” Hornet explained. “I’ve been reorienting myself with the caverns below.”

“Did you happen to run into a little bug with two horns and a nail?” Elderbug asked her.

Hornet seemed to still for a moment. “...yes,” she said after some time. “But we will not be seeing them again.”

“...oh,” said Sly and Elderbug simultaneously.

“So it’s like that then,” Sly continued. “Did they perhaps have something to do with all that rumbling?”

Hornet nodded. “They sacrificed themself to save this kingdom. It is sad, but hopeful. We can begin to rebuild.”

“Rebuild the kingdom, you mean?” asked Sly. “It’d be lovely to visit the City again. I do still wonder where the palace went to.”

“My father presumably hid it somewhere, but that’s all I know.”

Elderbug felt a little left out of the conversation, as his knowledge of the kingdom was sparse compared to bugs who had lived in it. Maybe he should get to know them better, especially Sly, who he thought he’d known rather well despite his odd origin into the town. For now, though, he had an old friend back, and surely new friends would be had.

And to think that Elderbug had thought he liked the quiet!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why the indentations didn't really work this time sowwy


	3. Is Water Wet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hornet goes on a trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS more dialogue here, which isn’t always my strong suit  
> also slightly shorter chapter

Hornet had set herself to study deeply the maps that Ghost had filled out on their adventures. They were stitched together into one large map, unruly but functional and full of Iselda’s handmade markers and pins and labeled in surprisingly neat handwriting. Hallownest had changed since Hornet had last been there, and there were even places uncovered that she hadn’t known about.

Clever and observant thing, Ghost was. Hornet missed them already and was almost ashamed by it, seeing as they were a vessel exactly the same as the rest of the corpses and their shades in the Abyss. But this vessel had been different, determined somehow, but emptier than the Hollow Knight had been. Even so they chose not to contain the Radiance in themselves, but destroy it completely in a feat so incredible for one so small that Hornet was still taken aback by it.

A miracle had come upon Hallownest, and in the form of a child.

Basically.

Hornet had travelled to the City of Tears after spending a few days in Dirtmouth, to survey the damage some more. The City itself was intact, and its mechanisms too, but it was littered with recent corpses and the occassional bug that had retained enough of itself through the infection to regain sentience. Hornet met with each and instructed them to shelter in the buildings, and that she would, as only Heir, get back to cleaning up the city and reinstating government.

She went to more corners this time, with use of the map, and noticed a vendor she didn’t remember, located above the waterways entrance.

Relic Seeker Lemm was a cranky old type, but an honest worker. “...you’re new,” he said upon Hornet’s entrance. “Do you have relics to sell?”

Hornet stared at him for a second, then rolled up Ghost’s map and put it away. “I might. And you are?”

“Relic Seeker Lemm,” said the stern bug. “I collect relics. If you have them, I’ll pay you accordingly. I don’t care what your name is,” he added when Hornet made to introduce herself.

She frowned. “Actually, you might want to care, considering that I am technically the new King of Hallownest.”

Lemm snorted. “Unless you’ve got proof of that or a relic to sell I don’t much care. What do you have?”

Hornet sighed and looked at the collection of trinkets she had picked off of Ghost’s corpse, not wanting their things to be left behind. After a few minutes several items were sprawled across the counter: 3 wanderer’s journals, 4 Hallownest seals, a King’s idol, and 2 faded arcane eggs. She felt a little bad giving them away, but Ghost probably wouldn’t have cared.

“Well, you’re certainly an impressive collector,” Lemm commented, counting the items. “Especially these eggs...valuable things.”

“I didn’t collect these. A friend did.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lemm shrugged. “This all?”

Hornet checked her things. “Nothing more to sell, unless you’re interested in charms, but I do have proof of my heritage.” She pulled out another idol, this one not of the Pale King, but of another figure. “I take it you’re familiar with the history of Hallownest?”

“I’d like to think myself so,” Lemm replied, leaning in to get a better look at the idol. “I haven’t seen a idol like this before. Who is it?”

“Me,” Hornet replied. “My mother Herrah the Beast had this crafted for her quarters. If you study this idol, you’ll find that it’s as old as anything else in this collection. Have you come across any writings of the boon between Herrah and the Pale King?”

“For the seals,” Lemm said, carefully taking the idol and turning it over, noting the wear and tear. “The history gets blurry after that, as if it were expunged, and a while after  _ that _ it’s empty because anyone who could write was infected.”

“I am the result of the agreement between my mother and the Pale King. An heir to Deepnest, and now Hallownest.”

“Really,” Lemm muttered. “Just because an old thing like this–it is pretty, though–looks a bit like you, and you know a little history. Well, whatever,  _ Your Majesty _ . Do you want the geo for these other things or not?”

Hornet sighed. “You know what? Keep them and keep your geo. Consider it a donation.” She shuffled to the other side of the room and opened her map, planning her next excursion. “You should also know that the infection isn’t a problem any longer,” she called from behind the paper.

“Sure, lady,” Lemm replied. “Are you sure you don’t want to be paid? I’d feel bad not giving you what you’re due.”

“I’m sure. I won’t need any geo in the Royal Waterways,” Hornet replied, folding her map up. “I’m going to be on my way. If I come across anything interesting, you’ll be the first one to know.”

“Thanks. Travel safe and don’t drown.”

Hornet nodded, and was out the door.

On the map, Ghost had labeled several interesting Waterway locations; the one Hornet was most interested in was “Isma’s Grove”, as it shared the name of and/or belonged to the great Knight Isma. Perhaps Hornet would find something from her childhood days, when the Big Five were still fighting beside the Pale One, her father. Hegemol had always been so kind, and she was quite certain that Dryya had been rather fond of her kid-self.

Yes, the Waterways were wet and cold, but nothing came to attack her. The hwurmps had never had the highest form of intelligence even after it was granted by the King, and the ones that remained moved out of the way quietly with apologetic murmurs, much more wary of puffing up in this state of mind.

The icky Fluke-subtypes seemed much more hesitant too, but were very vocal in their opinions and slobbered distastefully in Hornet’s direction. She turned the other cheek and continued through the damp environment. It was darker than most places, but Hornet had Ghost’s lantern which was light enough as it bounced off of the dark water.

Soon a strange smell filled her nostrils and she grimaced, covering her face with the neck of her cloak. The ground was different here; it was no longer the rock and metal of the bug-made tunnels, but soft and squishy like wet dirt. Hornet was rather certain it wasn’t wet dirt.

This was all the sign of a dung beetle.

Ogrim.

Hornet bared herself to ignore the smell and hopped through the passages, soon coming upon a larger room where an extensive collection of dung was piled in the back. Ah. Home.

She peered around anxiously, hand ready for her nail if chances were that Ogrim was hostile to visitors. Soon she heard a rustling, more of a rumbling really, and out from the ground popped a red, round dung beetle.

“Hah!” he exclaimed, and when Hornet didn’t even flinch he eyed her suspiciously.

Hornet made a slight bow. “Hello, Ogrim.”

Ogrim’s brow shot up in surprise. “Ah! You know of me?”

“Pfft,” Hornet chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s been a very, very long time,” she told him. “Do you recognize me?”

Ogrim, rubbed his chin. “Mayhap. I’ve met many a soul in my time, though it’s been a while since I last saw one.”

“Hornet,” said Hornet. “Herrah’s child.”

Once again a surprised look crossed Ogrims face, followed by a grin. “Is it you? Truly?”

Hornet smiled back. “I suppose it is.”

“Oh, this is wonderful news!” the dung beetle exclaimed, moving to scoop Hornet into an enthusiastic hug. “How are you doing? And how are the other knights?” Hornet failed to answer for a moment, and this pause was all that Ogrim needed to hear to become worried. “Your silence speaks volumes. I do believe I have an inkling of an idea. Isma will be very sad about this.”

Hornet looked at him pitifully. “As far as I know, Hegemol is missing. His armor is found, but not the knight.”

“Oh, poor dear Hegemol,” Ogrim cried.

“I am yet unsure of Ze’mer and Dryya, but I am assuming Isma is in the grove beyond?”

Ogrim perked up a bit at this. “Yes! I cannot travel there myself, but I am certain she remains. You should visit her.”

“Hmm,” Hornet said. “Perhaps. I do have other news of the kingdom, if you are interested.”

“I am.”

“The good news is that the Infection is no more,” Hornet explained. “I believe you have met that little Knight?”

“Yes, the Knight! Are they well?”

“I…as well as they can be,” Hornet said. “They rid us of the Infection, but in doing so sacrificed themself.”

“How noble…” Ogrim murmured woefully. “What a very strange Vessel. Nothing like the Hollow Knight, and yet everything like them. Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know. They wandered in from the Cliffs,” was the answer. “Must have sneaked out from the abyss, somehow.”

“What a very strange Vessel!!” Ogrim repeated. “Ah, wait. How rude of me. I must give my condolences for the loss of a sibling.”

“Thank you,” Hornet replied. “I will be fine. There are more pressing matters at the moment.”

“Such as, my dear?”

“In technicality, I am the new King of Hallownest. The Pale Wyrm is nowhere to be found, gone into hiding after he failed,” said Hornet. “The Queen is also missing.”

“Your Majesty!” Ogrim exclaimed. “Goodness. So many changes since I was tasked to protect Isma. I recall that Dryya had her own task, to protect the Queen. One would assume she is still with her.”

“Two birds with one stone if we find them,” Hornet agreed. “It is good to talk to you, to someone who already understands the workings of Hallownest,” she commented.

“And it is good to be informed!” Ogrim countered. “Call upon me if you need me, Your Majesty. You should check on dear Isma. I don’t want to keep you held back.”

“Thank you, Ogrim,” Hornet told him, nodding. “I will return shortly.”

Isma was...not alive. Or if she was alive, she was in a deep sleep, held to the wall by her own overgrown plants. Hornet looked to her with a sigh and knelt, bowing to the fallen. A tragedy it was, one of many that had befallen Hallownest in the past hundred or so years.

Hornet stroked the overhanging, mossy vine protruding from Isma’s fossilized brow. It was wet, presumably from the humid room, and Hornet remembered one of the items Ghost had carried with them on their journey.

A single tear, hardened like amber, and shining green. It was unlabeled, but carried an understanding of its own origin, and Hornet had already witnessed its acid-repelling power. Hornet doubted she would need it for herself, and she could always come back for it if needed.

She wedged it into the little nook inside the draping vines from Isma’s forehead, and found it fit there. It just made sense, after all.

It was only fair to return the borrowed item to its mother.

Nothing happened when Hornet put the tear back, and nothing happened when she gave one last bow and turned to leave. Isma was not going to awaken, not now, and anyway, there were more fragile matters for Hornet to attend to.

Hornet returned to Ogrim. “How is she? I hope she isn’t too lonely,” he asked Hornet.

“She’s not lonely, no,” said she. “She...I think she is asleep. I’m sorry, but I am unsure if she will wake up again.”

“Ah,” murmured Ogrim. “Well, it has been a very long time. I think I have known all along,”

Hornet nodded solemnly. “Loyal Knight Ogrim, as King, I hereby relieve you of your current oath and duty.” She laid a hand on his large shoulder. “I already have ideas of services for those fallen. Come, to the City. We have much to do still.”

Ogrim nodded back. “Yes. I apologize if I remain distant for a time.”

“I completely understand,” Hornet told him. “Perhaps a distraction will help. How long have you been holed up in these tunnels? I think you need some air.”

The dung beetle managed a chuckle, if halfheartedly. “Yes, I think so too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made hornet the king and not the queen because King is a title and doesn’t necessarily denote gender, seeing as Ghost is genderless yet was still the “king” of hallownest


	4. Productivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which hornet claims her place as king, and eternal emilitia is insufferable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I really like working with side characters

Emilitia hardly noticed the city outside go quiet, caught up in her own headspace. She wondered if that little bug would visit again and add a little more spice to her confinement, but they did not come.

Outside the rain did not falter, and the eternal bug didn’t hear the addition of footsteps to the pitter-patter until the owner was already in the room.

Emilitia blinked, her giggle catching in her throat as she stared at the newcomer. This was not a husk, nor was it the little ghost that she had spoken to before.

“Hello,” said the new bug, her red cloak competing with the red of Emilitia’s. “You’re not a husk. Good. Come out, it’s safe.”

Emilitia stared. “Safe?” she asked, then instantly threw away that train of thought. “You are of the upper caste!” she exclaimed.

The bug snorted. “The very top, actually. But it doesn’t matter. Come on.”

“I thought all of my fellows had been overtaken by the affliction,” Emilitia said, standing and then stumbling, for she had given up standing a long time ago.

“Not all,” was the reply, along with a strong arm propping Emilitia up. “What’s your name?”

“Emilitia.”

“May I call you Emily? I’m Hornet.”

“I suppose. Where have I heard your name before?” Emily asked as they stepped out to the rain.

Hornet laughed. “Somewhere a long time ago. Ogrim,” she called to a figure snooping about the doors in the city. The bug looked up and smiled heartily. “I’ve found another.”

Ogrim toddled over and gently took Emilitia from Hornet’s care. “Greetings,” he said. “Come with me! We’re rounding up all the survivors.”

“So there are more,” Emily perused, noticing the red-brown color of Ogrim’s armor and deciding he was regal enough, what with his polite mannerisms. Hadn’t she heard his name before, too?

“Yes indeed!” Ogrim answered, a little louder than before in a proud, booming voice. “The infection is gone, as I’m sure King Hornet told you, and very few have survived, but we are working on it! Once everyone is united, we can begin rebuilding!”

“...King?” Emily murmured to herself, too quiet to hear.

They walked through the rain for some time, eventually convening in front of the Watcher’s Spire, where once Lurien had resided. “Ah, these quarters,” reminisced Emily fondly. “How nice that no lowly bugs could bother us.”

Ogrim did not comment, leading her inside and to a couch. “The others are wandering around. I would advise you to be careful; it is clear you have not walked in some time.” 

“Thank you.” And so Eternal Emilitia sat still, mulling over the information she had been fed in the past ten or so minutes, swinging her legs back and forth and gazing upon the beautiful room that had been preserved in time. Soon she was approached by a small bug, one of the more cowardly ones, but still of a rank as high as hers.

“Why, it’s Lurien’s dear butler!” Emily exclaimed, patting her hands together. The bug flinched back from her, but stood his ground. “I’m elated you made it through after all these years.”

“Hello,” the butler said. “Miss Emilitia.”

Emily smiled.

“I must admit I did not expect to see you back here,” the butler told her softly. “Especially after the...incident.”

Emilitia scoffed. “Hmph! And after a hundred years you still hold it against me.”

Butler frowned. “We still remember. Be careful, Miss. Not everyone would be so kind to you.”

Emily huffed, turning up her nose. Butler sighed. As she looked up, she noticed several pairs of eyes peering down at her from the rafters.

Vengeflies!!

She let out a small squeak; what lowly creatures in such a prestigious building! At that moment a small ex-husk beetle came tiptoeing behind Butler. “Who’s this?” they asked softly.

“This is Emilitia,” replied Butler. “She doesn’t much like the lower caste, so we should go.”

“Oh, ok,” said the beetle, and Butler quietly led them away.

Emily was outraged. Why was Butler even speaking to them? And the vengeflies by the cieling! This was such a break of natural law.

Then Ogrim and Hornet entered the building, Ogrim carrying a giant, injured golden bug and Hornet leading two tiny pillbugs along with her. Behind them came another beetle, this one grumpy and resigned but cognitive.

Hornet glanced to Emilitia and came over, still bearing the little bugs. “Hello again, Emily,” she greeted. “We’re going to begin the meeting soon. Would you be so kind as to make room for these two on this couch?”

Emilitia grimaced, looking down at the two lowly small ones, but after a moment realized that they were only children. Just two small beetles, perpetually stuck in a state of infancy for years. “...Uh, of course,” she stammered reluctantly, scooting to the very side of the couch.

Hornet lifted the kids onto the couch, one after the other, and murmured something reassuring to them before smiling at Emily and turning to the grumpy beetle and talking to him. Emily looked awkwardly at the two bugs, who stared back with giant, curious eyes. “Hello,” she said.

She was met with only silence and more unsettling stares.

Within minutes Hornet was seen standing on top of a chair at the back of the room, Ogrim on one side of her and the grumpy bug on the other. Many other bugs had filed into the place from doors, nooks and crannies.

“BUGS OF HALLOWNEST!” Hornet yelled to the room, looking more regal and commanding than ever. Instantly everyone’s attention was caught, even the two little starers at Emily’s side. “It has been approximately two hundred years since the fall of the kingdom! Within this time, most of you were under the spell of the infection. Many were lost, but we still have hope!” Hornet held her head higher. “My name is Hornet! I am the daughter of Herrah the Beast, and my father was the one and only Pale King! As of now, I am the sole heir to both Deepnest and Hallownest! From here on out I will be ruling as your King and restoring order, starting with the City of Tears!”

The crowd began to murmur, and Emilitia frowned. How could she be descended from the King Himself? She gave off no light.

Hornet continued. “To begin, I need messengers! Is anyone in here a messenger, or can fly fast? I have a map so directional knowledge is not necessary.” A few hesitant hands went up. “Names!” Hornet demanded, pointing to the hand nearest to her.

As the bugs gave their names, the grumpy one beside Hornet wrote them down on the glossy silk paper he held.

“Next up!” shouted Hornet. “The city may need repairs! Does anyone do building or architecture??” More hands went up this time.

“My cousin Menderbug likes fixing things!”

“I know where the blueprints are kept!”

“I like to paint…”

“Are you really Hornet? You don’t look like her!”

“I’ve grown up,” Hornet answered curtly. “Okay! Next we need housing! I know a lot of you already have houses, but much of the lower caste does not! If there is free space somewhere, let me know now!”

“My neighbor died, his house is open!”

“Third door down from my place has been empty for years.”

“Master Lurien’s suites are innocupied,” Butler piped up.

Emily grimaced. Why were these higher bugs so willing to convene with those of lower standing? It was...gross. Emilitia glanced to the twins in her care. They were watching Hornet intently and with steely admiration.

It confused Emily. Why would a bug of the upper caste, one who claimed to be King, directly associate herself with commoners? The Pale King would have never. And Emily only had because the little knight was the only one she had to talk to, and these twins beside her were just children. If she had known she would be freed, she wouldn’t have even noticed the knight. This was outrageous.

She would speak her mind when she next was able to talk to Hornet. And she did.

“So what’s all this then,” Emilitia snapped at Hornet, gesturing at the room and especially enunciating on the twins. “These are commoners, they don’t belong with we higher caste.”

Hornet frowned at her. “And? This issue involves everyone.”

“...!” Emily didn’t really have a good comeback for this. “You’re interacting with them directly, even touching them! It’s very...scarring.”

“Get over yourself, Emily,” Hornet snapped. “Things are changing, and I’m not my father. Sorry if it disappoints, but you’re going to have to at least talk with these bugs. As King, I  _ order _ you to.”

Emilitia flinched. “You can’t possibly be abolishing societal rules that have been around for centuries.”

Hornet eyed her. “Weren’t you cast out anyway? Why does it matter to you?” She turned away from the sputtering Emily to the little twins. “I’m sorry that Emily is being so mean. Would you like to go see if there’s a nice person who would take you in?” After a moment one of them nodded and the other one scooted over and put a hand on Emilitia’s leg. “Will you be okay on your own?” A nod from the one who wanted to stay. “I’ll come back for you. Emily won’t hurt you, but she might say some mean things. I’m trusting your judgement, okay?” The little one gave her a determined look, and then Hornet and their twin were off.

Emily stared disgustedly at the remaining bug, pulling her leg from their hand. “Idiotic little thing. I don’t know why you insisted on staying with me.” The child just stared. “Well, do you at least have a name? Something I can call you?”

The beetle stared for another few moments before speaking for the first time since they had arrived, in a soft, quiet voice. “Tyla.”

“And does your sibling have a name?”

“Lyla.”

Emily huffed. “What bland names. I’m going to lose track of you instantly.”

Tyla giggled, leaning up against the other. They pat Emilitia’s shoulder and then snuggled in closer, fondly. “Our mom did too.”

“So you had a mother.”

“Long time ago,” said Tyla. “Not anymore. She’s gone.”

“To the infection, yes,” Emily sighed, feeling bad that she was feeling bad for the little beetle and their sibling.

“You’re a lot like her.”

Emily gasped, highly offended. “Why, I could be nothing like the lowly bug your mother was! I am high class! Important!”

Tyla giggled again. “You’re funny! Snooty!”

“S-snooty??!” came another gasp. “How dare you!” Tyla continued to giggle, and clutched one of Emily’s arms, closing their eyes.

So now began the situation in which Emilitia was forced to sit stock still while a tiny beetle napped in her lap. She hated this. With a passion. But morally, how could she reject a child? So she said nothing and didn’t move for over an hour, remaining quiet until Hornet returned, Lyla nowhere to be seen. “We’ve found a place. Come along, Tyla,” she said, patting them awake. “And you too, Emily.”

Emily gave a suspicious glare to Hornet as she stood. Hornet innocently took her hand for support and led her along, Tyla bobbling silently along beside them, skipping and jumping along the wet stones of the roads.

The three of them halted in front of the door to a large building containing many suites, and quickly went inside to get out of the rain. Hornet shook the droplets from her head and hefted Tyla into one of her arms, the other still supporting Emilitia. “It’s only a few doors down,” Hornet explained, leading the other along the hall.

On cue, the door they stopped in front of opened, revealing Lyla. The little bug smiled, Tyla hopping out of Hornet’s arms to stand beside their sibling. “Hold the door, please,” Hornet told them, supporting Emily over the doorstep. “This is home. It is a triple suite, so a fourth or fifth bug may be joining you three,” she explained as she brought Emily over to the couch in front of an unlit hearth.

“Hold on, you mean I’m to be living alongside these beetles??” Emilitia cried out. “This is very unfair! First I had to mind them, and now I must raise them??”

Hornet (lightly) rapped her alongside the head. “As far as I’m concerned, Miss Emilitia, you are acting more like a child than they are. Learn to like it; my sibling and your savior was as dirty and lowly-looking as anyone else. Besides, Tyla and Lyla told me they like you, for whatever reason. So right now you’re living with them. Please do not complain, especially to me,” she scolded. “I’m King, and I have much more important things to deal with. I’ve spent enough attention on you, but only because I know you’ve got a heart under that mask of yours.” She bopped Emily’s head again, more fondly this time, but still with sternness. “I have to go now. Either Ogrim or myself will be bringing the other residents to you. Sit tight.” She leant and gave the twins head pats, then left.

Emily sunk into the couch and pouted. This was just! so! very!  _ outrageous _ ! The bug sulked on her throne of sorts, the empty fireplace staring coldly back at her. She was miserable.

Lyla hopped up beside Emilitia. “Make th’ best of it,” they told her, and pat her arm.

Tyla hopped too, making a chirrup. “You are fussy.”

“F-fussy?!” But the two twins nodded in affirmation. Emily fell silent, insulted despite the innocence of the children. Perhaps she had gotten crabby all those years locked up, but it’s not like her protests were out of line.

Were they?

True, Hallownest had changed, but surely not this much. The buildings were the same. The bugs looked the same, if there were less. Emilitia huffed and crossed her arms, blocking the twins out. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed rest.

And so she slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ain’t that good at ending chapters sometimes


	5. Enter Into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also known as "The Tea Shop," or "Fan Favorites Chapter"  
> in which quirrel and myla find that the City of Tears is active again

      It was a much quieter, happier life aside the Blue Lake. Emphasis on the quiet part, but after all the excitement, Quirrel was well enough where he was. The earthquake had been a surprise, but it went back to being quiet after that.

      Quirrel stepped outside his home of bug shells and sticks, breathing in the scenery. It was the same as yesterday, and that comforted him. He had had enough big changed recently. This break did good for him, and putting down his nail was the best thing that had ever happened. Probably.

      His memory  _ was  _ still a bit spotty.

      It was on this day he had decided to turn his old nail into a monument of sorts. Through devious means that will go unmentioned, he had managed to procure several Lifeseeds and meant to plant them. He’d heard so much about how the flowers were so pretty, and shaped like butterflies! And maybe he could grow his own lifeblood, perhaps make a buck on it. There were always heretics left in the world.

      As he was covering the last seed under the sands, quiet voices and the sound of footsteps met his ears, and he stood. It wasn’t unheard of for bugs to come wandering through the blue lake, so he put on a cheery smile and went to greet them.

       This is how he happened to meet Hornet.

      Again.

      At first she did not appear to recognize him. “Greetings,” she said with a polite bow. The smaller bug that was with her made a bow as well, albeit a clumsy one.

      “Good morning,” Quirrel replied. “Just passing through, or…?”

      Hornet shook her head. “It’s a bit more than that.” She stood a little straighter, taller. “We’ve come to review how the lake is doing, especially after the quake a week ago.”

      The little bug she was with piped up. “Yeah! We’re making sure the City is good!”

      “The City of Tears, below us,” Quirrel nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. What’s going on down there?”

      Neither bug answered; the little one bounded off with their tiny hammer to inspect a wall. Hornet watched them go, then turned back to Quirrel to answer. “There are still survivors from the infection. I am restoring order.”

      “ _ You _ are?” Quirrel inquired, not impolitely.

      Hornet nodded. “I am now King.” She eyed him, as if to silently tell him she meant business. Then, “I must apologize. Have we met before?”

      Quirrel was hesitant to answer, seeing how their last meeting had been less than friendly. “...yes, I think so,” he answered unsurely.

      Hornet stared for a very short moment, then blinked. “Ah, yes!” she said in satisfaction at remembering. “You were...intruding.”

      “...not entirely,” replied Quirrel. “I suppose you could say I was returning. But I live up here now, by the Lake, and I have no intention of causing trouble.”

      “I believe you,” said the new King. “I will try not to bother you, but do expect more...ehm,  _ civilization _ to be in the area.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind. If you ever need assistance, Your Majesty…”

      Hornet laughed. “I don’t do formalities, my friend, but I appreciate the acknowledgement. Hornet will do fine,” she told him with a slight bow.

      “My name is Quirrel,” Quirrel told her with a bow of his own. “If you don’t mind, I was tending to my garden…”

      Hornet nodded, dismissing him. “Go ahead.” She turned to stride off after her assistant, and leant down to inspect a section of the wall they were gesturing towards. Quirrel stared for a moment, then decided he was being rude and turned away to tidy the ground where he had buried the Lifeseeds.

      He looked to his sword again; it was beginning to get sand stuck in the little grooves, not that he minded. Well, maybe part of him did. But he had driven his nail into the ground for a reason, and he wasn’t about to pull it out now. Without the responsibility of Monomon and the infection on his shoulders, he was free to enjoy himself with what time he had left. Quirrel was, after all, very old, but still very determined.

      …

      “Excuse me,” Quirrel said, coming up behind his two visitors. “But I must ask you something, Y--Hornet.”

      Hornet stood and faced him, her companion standing shyly behind. “Yes?”

      “I, uh. You wouldn’t have happened to meet a small knight in your travels? Or know where they are?” Quirrel asked.

      Hornet’s face fell just slightly, though she didn’t bother hiding it. “Yes, I met them,” she murmured. “But they’re gone now. It seems they made acquaintance with everybody, hm?”

      “Hmm...maybe,” Quirrel sighed. “So they’re gone now too…”

      Hornet nodded. “But do not despair, my friend. We are rebuilding. You are welcome to visit the City whenever, although do understand that it is all still a bit disorganized now.”

      “Thank you.”

      She smiled at him. “Any time.”

      And Quirrel did decided to go and visit the City. It was rainy and gray as ever, and even more so empty. Yet it seemed more...normal, too. Quirrel had faint memories of this place from a time long ago, and the buildings were still exactly the same. There were the occasional bugs walking around, minimal compared to the crowds of bugs from before, and the husks after that, but this was a change. A good one.

      Quirrel was pleased by this change.

      He noticed many faces, some familiar, some he was sure he had never seen. One he did recognize, though, was that of Lurien’s Butler. He had often seen this bug when on visits to the other Dreamers, and they’d seldom spoken, and yet Butler seemed to recognize him even so. In his recognition the butler ran up to heartily shake Quirrel’s hand.

      “Now here’s a face I wasn’t expecting to see!” he exclaimed. “And where have you been??”

      “H-hello!” Quirrel stammered. “Yes, it...it’s been a long time. I was. Um. Actually, it’s a very long story.”

      Butler laughed. “I don’t doubt you. Care to come in for tea? It’s just around the corner.” He waved vaguely in a direction.

      “I suppose I can’t say no,” Quirrel replied with a small smile.

      The tea was from a little shop. This shop was run by two tiny beetles, a winged sentry, and in the back Quirrel spotted a four-horned bug in red limping grumpily around, carting shells and making sure the oven was hot to boil water.

      The tea shop was getting good business, with bugs in and out the whole time Quirrel and Butler caught up with each other. “I was under the influence of the infection for most of these years,” Butler was saying. “I remember little things here and there. It took me a while to come to my senses once Hallownest was purged, but here I am!” He smiled. “The Spire was safe for a time, but all that loneliness didn’t help me to keep my head on straight.”

      “I understand that,” Quirrel nodded. “I was alone in the desert for a very long time.”

      “The desert!” Butler said, clearly on the edge of spitting out his tea. “And you didn’t lose all that ‘mind this Kingdom grants?’”

      Quirrel shrugged. “Monomon set me up with a strong seal. I forgot a lot out there, but it’s coming back. Slowly. I remember  _ you _ , that’s for sure.”

      “Amazing. So you weren’t infected?”

      “Not that I know of. I only recently got back to Hallownest, you see.”

      “Hmm.” Butler finished his tea, while Quirrel had barely started on his. “Very...inconvenient adventures you’ve had, eh?”

      “That’s one way to put it,” Quirrel chuckled. “It’s complicated, that’s for sure. I don’t quite get it all myself.”

      “Understandably, of course,” Butler nodded.

      One of the tiny bugs came to take Butler’s empty cup away. “Hi!!” they said to Quirrel. “You’re new!”

      “Hello, Lyla,” Butler greeted.

      “I’m Tyla.”

      Butler laughed. “I can never tell you two apart!” He gestured to the other. “This is Quirrel. He’s visiting the City.”

      “Nice!” Tyla grinned. “Have fun!” They bustled the cup they had away.

      Quirrel sighed. “They’re so tiny.”

      “But very capable,” Butler added. “Don’t underestimate the twins.”

      “I gathered...I’ve met some capable children in my time.” A slightly awkward silence followed, then Quirrel let out a breathless laugh. “Good Wyrm,” he muttered. “So much has changed and I wasn’t even there for it. Is it bad I feel survivor’s guilt??”

      “Not necessarily,” Butler shrugged. “It seems pretty normal to me. But try to get those thoughts out of your head; what you went through was bad enough compared to Hallownest’s infection problems. Let’s put that all behind us and enjoy life as it is now. Drink your tea, Quirrel.”

      So Quirrel did.

 

      Three weeks after the earthquake subsided, Myla blinked awake and looked around. Where was she again?

      Her head was miles clearer than it had been in years, not only devoid of infection but free of the allure of the crystals. She realized she was still holding a pick, and dropped it.  _ Where was she again?? _

      Myla looked around. Right, the mines. Why wasn’t she wearing her protective goggles?? Where were her siblings?? And more importantly, how long had she been asleep? She stumbled out of the broken mine entrance bewildered, removing the headlamp and the helmet it was attached to, dropping it absentmindedly to the ground, where the lamp smashed and the lumafly fluttered off.

      What had plagued her so…?

      She needed to get back to the city. Her two younger siblings would still be there, wouldn’t they? Were the elevators still in use?

      It turns out that, although it was a little rusty, the nearest main elevator was still in use, and liberally too: why, there were two bugs in the elevator already! A vengefly and a simple beetle, and when Myla entered after the two had exited, she noticed a third bug, a sentry standing quietly at the back of the cage. They nodded at her entrance, smiling.

      Myla stared back, but they made no ill will her way, and so hurriedly she pulled the lever in the center of the elevator, and the cage began its descent with a dutiful  _ k’chunk _ .

      It was an excruciatingly awkward silence on the way downward. Myla stood shivering, holding so tight to the lever her fingers went numb. She had always been shy, but now she didn’t know what was even going on anymore. How much time had passed?

      She ran off the elevator the second it hit the floor, skittering past a group of junebugs waiting to go up. In her hurry she slipped on the wet brick roads, eventually slamming face-first into the belly of a taller bug, who stumbled back in surprise while she landed onto her behind.

      “Whoa there,” the bug said, smoothing down its long beard. “Careful, if you please.”

      Myla got up shakily, absently muttering some apologies. “Sorry…”

      As she shook water from her shell, the other bug studied her. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you,” it observed. “If you’re new you need to be accounted for.”

      “Huh?”

      The other pointed. “Head to the Watcher’s Tower. Can’t miss it. King Hornet will want to meet you.”

      “King Hornet?”

      “Yeah. Where’ve you been? Well, doesn’t matter anyway. You go check in. The name’s Lemm, by the way. Chances are we’ll meet again.”

      Myla paused before speaking. “Myla’s mine.”

      Lemm gave off a huff. “Rhymes with the names of two troublemakers I know,” he commented, then moved to walk past Myla. “If you can, visit the tea shop. Unruly owners but great tea. Good luck, Myla.” He gave a passive wave and marched on his way.

      “Th...thank you…?”

      Myla stared after him for some time before finally continuing on her way. The Tower was the best place as any anyway to look for her siblings, right?

      The old building had nary a spot of dust in it, although the furnishings were obviously well loved. Or, well, lack thereof. It looked like they hadn’t been sat on in years.

      From a side door emerged a beetle of the upper caste, who approached Myla as if they were the same species to greet her. “Hello,” he said, “I’m Butler. What can I do for you?”

      “Um,” said Myla. “I’m...looking for my siblings.”

      Butler nodded knowingly. “Sure. Are you new here? I don’t recognize you.”

      “Um,” said Myla again. “I-I’ve been to the city before. Is that what you mean?”

      Butler squinted at her. “Hmm. And how long ago was this?”

      “I...I don’t know,” Myla replied, shaking her head and becoming more worried. The other bug sighed in pity.

      “Well then, come with me. The King knows these things better than I do,” he told her, offering his hand.

      Myla shifted uncomfortably. “A-aren’t I not allowed to touch you?”

       “We’ve abolished the caste,” she was curtly informed. “Come along.”

      Myla did not take his hand, but followed him through the door he’d come from, through several rooms, and rode in definitely more than one elevator. Myla became increasingly more anxious the higher they went. So high up and in such a sacred place…

       Watcher Lurien seemed to be absent from his place in the tower, and his place by the scope was taken by a horned bug who wore a striking red cloak. She turned at the entrance of the two bugs.

      “Hornet,” Butler greeted. “We have a new arrival. She’s not on the records, I don’t think.”

      The King stood from her seat and gave a slight bow. “Thank you.” She faced Myla. “Good afternoon. I’m Hornet. And your name is?”

      Myla shuddered, highly intimidated. “Um.”

      Hornet knelt beside Myla, being quite a bit taller than her. “It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.” She extended a hand. Myla did not take it. “What’s your name, dear?”

      “...M-Myla.”

      Hornet flinched very slightly. “Your name rhymes very suspiciously with the names of two little beetles who run a tea shop down the road. You wouldn’t perhaps know them?”

      Myla finally took Hornet’s hand with both of hers. “L-Lyla and Tyla??? They’re here??”

      Hornet smiled warmly at Myla. “Yes, ma’am! If you need to see them…”

      “I d-do, I do!!!!” Myla squeezed Hornet’s hands. “P-please, where are th-they?”

      “Shh,” Hornet said, giving Myla a comforting pat on the back. “I’ll take you to them personally. Butler, you may go.” She turned back to Myla. “Let’s go visit your two friends, then,” she said.

     “P-please.”

      Hornet smiled at the other, and with swift movement swept her into her arms, then under one arm, holding tight. In a wink, Hornet skipped past the telescope and threw herself out the window, Myla still firmly fastened under her arm (and screaming). With skilled movement silk and a needle emerged from her cloak and fastened them to spire after spire, swinging down over the streets.

      Whether said streets were crowded or not, Myla couldn’t tell. Too blurry.

      Hornet set down around a corner in front of a door that would have been hard to locate was it not for the signs and the smell of food. Myla dropped to the ground, too dizzy to stand. “Hhhhhh,” she said.

      “Sorry,” Hornet told her, though it was debatable how sorry she actually was. “But we’re here now. Come!” She helped Myla to her feet and pushed open the door, leading Myla out of the rain and into what almost seemed like another world. If the streets outside had been empty, Myla now knew where they would all be.

      Myla rubbed her arms. “It’s so...warm.” She felt drier already.

      Hornet laughed merrily. “Of course! They make tea here. It must be warm.”

      The two bugs made their way further into the building. Hornet’s presence wasn’t as reacted to as Myla would have expected, but even so guests pointedly moved to let her pass through before returning to conversation.

      The minute they made it to the front counter, Myla recognized the tiny bug behind it.

      “Lyla!!” she exclaimed.

      “Myla?” Lyla said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (fixed the formatting, hate how my indents are taken away when i paste the writin)


	6. Fixed Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hornet explores a bit using Ghost's map, and then is met with a surprise visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter aka "fanservice chapter 2" or "bonding over terrible father"  
> also: ser is the gender-neutral term for sir or ma'am

            Hornet, following Ghost’s map, had found the place carefully labelled “Mask Maker” and stamped with a bright shiny pin of Iselda’s make and model. Usually, she had come to find, things marked with the shinier pins tended to lead to people, to bugs. Once it’d lead to the corpse of a Mawlek.

            Sad, perhaps, but at the time it had probably been infected.

            Anyway, as she was thinking to herself, most of the time the shiny pins led to bugs, and this time that seemed to hold true. Hornet stopped outside a small opening in the rock and shell of a wall. Despite the light coming from it, it was no more welcoming than the dark of Deepnest outside.

            Hornet stepped inside.

            The repetitive sounds of tapping met her hearing almost instantly and her steps instinctively fell into rhythm with the sounds.

            She stopped in front of a desk or work table of sorts where a bug used the limbs on both sides of their body to shape and paint the items on the desk. They did not look up at her when she arrived, and even when they spoke they remained enveloped in the work.

            “Hello,” greeted Hornet.

            “Ah, the gendered child?” the bug mused without looking up. “What an esteemed visitor. Are you in need of a mask?”

            Hornet was taken aback for a moment, then gathered herself. “No, I am not,” she responded.

            “Shame,” the bug said. “Then why, pray tell, has the princess found her way to my workshop?”

            “I’m not the princess,” Hornet informed them.

            “You certainly seem to be. Who else wears that bright of a red but royalty?”

            “I’m the new King now.”

            Only then did the bug look up from their work and squint at Hornet. “Surely? But you bear no Brand. I will not deny your royalty, but to be a King…?”

            Hornet stuck her needle into the ground and assumed a more stately posture. “The Pale Wyrm is dead, and the Queen is missing. The Hollow Knight has perished, and any other vessels are gone. I am the only one with the authority. I do not ask for formalities, only recognition as King.” She paused. “Ser,” she finally added.

            The bug tsked. “Perhaps you speak truly. Really, it does not much matter in the grand scheme, but if it makes you feel better, I hereby recognize you as King, despite lacking His Brand. You are well enough to rule, anyhow.”

            Hornet was getting a bit annoyed at this bug, but did not provoke them. Instead, she said, “Thank you. I have been exploring the annals and corners of this kingdom, looking for stray bugs to join us in the great City. We are repairing it and gathering the people to rebuild after the Infection.”

            “Ah, so the radiant light is gone, then?” the bug murmured. “How interesting. The Void overcame, despite everything. How interesting indeed.”

            “The Infection is gone, yes. Would you join us?”

            The bug looked at her again, dark eyes peering into her own. “Join you? Ha. What is there to join any longer? I am only here for the faceless. I do not ‘join’, only provide.”

            Hornet thought. “Then…” she said, “Would you come to the city? There are many bugs.”

            “Many, perhaps,” they agreed. “But I need not move. They will come to me. I have everything I need right here. They will come.”

            “I suppose I cannot convince you,” Hornet sighed. “But know that you are always welcome in the City.”

            “Being too open can be dangerous, _my King_ ,” the bug told her almost condescendingly. “It is a weakness. The less masks you wear, the more vulnerable.”

            “You are not the only cryptic sort I’ve met, ser,” Hornet said. “Your words do not faze me.”

            “They should. Be off now, if you have no more business.”

            “Only one more thing: do you have a name?”

            “I am only a Mask Maker, ma’am. It is all I am,” was the answer. No wonder Ghost had labelled this location that way.

            Hornet left the workshop.

 

            Legendary was the story of the King Wyrm and his three adversaries, the three most influential bugs in Hallownest (besides himself).

            First was Lurien. He was the most well-known and respected of the three, and sat atop his tower watching the city.

            Second was Monomon, a teacher of renown who spent little time teaching anymore and now spent her days cataloguing Hallownest’s history name by name.

            The final of the three was less popular, more infamous than legendary. She was Herrah the Beast, leader of Deepnest. Sure, she was a bug by technicality _,_ but arachnids weren’t exactly revered among the rest of the population.

            And then came...the King. Born from his previous physical guise of a mighty Wyrm, he continued to live up to the expectations of such a revered god. “He outshines even the most mighty warriors,” it was said, and it was probably true; his white light was always turning heads.

            His wife, too, shone with a holy light, if not as clear as the King’s. She was native to Hallownest, yes, but was not a bug, her head growing with treelike, glowing branches. Sometimes people thought she may be from Deepnest, due to her luminescence and un-bug-liness. Those rumors were quickly shot down by the King.

            And then, much less than legendary, not even remembered or known at all, was the story of the Vessels. Hallownest was aware of the Hollow Knight themself, but knew not what had been happening underneath the surface, down, down into the…”Abyss.”

            The Abyss was quiet, dark, and very, _very_ still.

            It was not quite as still before, when tiny beings not bug, beast, nor god struggled at the bottom, shells cracked and ground down into the floor itself.

            It was not quite as still before, when tiktiks overtook the long forgotten rooms and the sea thrashed with the grief of a thousand angry, hopeless children.

            But now it was quiet, dark, and very, _very_ still.

            Or…?

            The lighthouse flickered, the strained lumaflies losing what light they still had. Truly, they were the only things stirring, but they could not hold for much longer. Even though they had immense longevity, it was nothing to the test of enough time.

            It was enough time.

            Although the sea was calm in the dark, remaining unified by Ghost’s efforts, it moved now. It was calm, yes, but not unmoving. Not entirely quiet.

            From the muck emerged a shade. A larger one, perhaps stepping out as representative. It relished in the major absence of light, what with the dream crushed and the lumaflies dead. It looked around, the wisps of its cloak dragging against the metal dock below.

            It took a figurative step, then two. Then another one.

            The shade traveled fast now, sinking through the cracks in the walls and rising, rising…

 

            A broken thing did not require a nail, they thought. They did not deserve it, nor want it, anyway. So the nail was left behind and the rest of the broken thing dragged themself down the corridors.

            They did not notice the spikes surrounding them as they trekked, tearing more holes in their form. They did not feel this. They knew the area well, but did not care. They were not meant to, after all.

            But they needed to _be_ . They needed to _exist_ , that is.

            They needed to see what had happened.

            Everyone did.

 

            Hornet was immediately summoned when the vessel was seen in the outskirts of the City. It was taller than Ghost, but smaller than the Hollow Knight, and had broken horns and was leaking void from the back of the head. It did not limp or stumble, but walked steadily through the streets, politely moving out of the way of other bugs and looking at everything.

            She sped to the scene and stopped short about twenty feet from the vessel, any civilians hurriedly moving out of the way.

            The vessel saw her soon enough, tilted its head, then approached.

            It had no nail and no other trinkets were seen on its person, and this became more apparent as it got closer to her. Hornet stared down at it, the sharp end of her needle pointed away from the vessel.

            “Your shell is broken,” she told it, gently brushing one of its horns. “And to think I just visited that Mask Maker.”

            The vessel stared blankly back at her.

            “Your cloak is torn to pieces, too,” Hornet said, and took one of its hands. “Here, we should get you cleaned up. Would you like that?”

            The vessel stared blankly back at her.

            Hornet sighed. “Well, of course. You _can’t_ like it. Would it help you if you were cleaned up?” she rephrased, not unkindly. This was only a child, after all. They all were.

            The vessel tilted its head, then freed its hands and began to sign. _We are curious._

            Hornet frowned. “Okay. How about we go get you in some better clothes, and we can talk about it?”

            The vessel proceeded to take Hornet’s hand again and looked to her expectedly.

            The King took this as a yes and led the child back down the road to the Spire. She took them to her personal suite, the one of the late Lurien.

            Butler met them there. “Uh, if you don’t mind me asking,” he ventured, “what...who is this?”

            “A vessel,” answered Hornet, leading said personage toward the small hot spring located in the tower, considering the rain in the city could not properly clean off all the dust they carried with them, not to mention whatever wounds they might have suffered. “No name for them yet. I don’t know where they came from, but they said they’re...curious.”

            Butler scratched his chin, watching Hornet hoist the vessel up and into the bath, untying their cloak. He handed her a wash-cloth and she began to scrub grit from the vessel’s face.

            “Thank you,” she nodded. “Would you fetch something that would fit this little one? Their cloak is ruined.” Once Butler had left the room, Hornet continued to speak to the vessel. “You are very lucky,” she said, “that you are here now. I am afraid your siblings’ fates were not so kind.”

            The vessel responded with a shrug of the least motivation that could ever be mustered, hardly moving.

            “You said you were...curious?” Hornet tried. “If you have questions…”

            In an instant the vessel began to gesture. Its sign was not as fluent as Ghost’s had been, but it was understandable enough. _What went on since the Radiance was banished within us?_

            “...you are aware of the happenings above?” Hornet asked.

 _We know what every sibling knows. Their pains are our pains, everyone’s pains. But also their relief._ They paused as Hornet jarred their head scrubbing off a particularly stubborn stain on their tallest horn. _We have been...preoccupied in our relief. What has happened?_

            “Hmm,” said Hornet. “Well, I am King now. As I know, all other royalty is gone. Well, besides you.”

_Royalty is not the word used to describe us._

            “‘Born of Wyrm,’” Hornet quoted. “Even if he was...crummy royalty, our father was still King. We are still siblings. I will still care for you.”

_We have not learned of kindness yet. Do bear with us._

            Hornet laughed at this, and fondly rubbed the vessel’s cheek. “Emotions are hard for you. I know. But I also know that there was this…” She struggled for the most effective word. “...bright, blossoming anger in little Ghost. Funny that, they _were_ angry,” she realized for the first time. “I’d think the Knight was too. The Wyrm and the Infection can be infuriating in that way,” she joked.

_The Knight was in much pain, in more than one way. We agree they felt...resentment for the Wyrm. They were imperfect, after all. Many of us were. The Void was never that way, these vessels restricting._

            “Perfection is unachievable,” Hornet told them. “Father was far from it himself, no matter what everyone else thought. He did not understand childhood or nurture, as he was too old to remember his own. Even one made from the darkest of things requires attention.” She looked the vessel in the eye-sockets. “So I will attend to you. We are siblings, and I will care for you.”

_We...I will try to understand._

            “Do your best...my kin,” Hornet reassured. “You are welcome here as long as you want. And…” She thought. “If there are any other vessels out there, lost and alone…”

_Only this vessel for us. Only me._

            The King nodded. “And...I must apologize for whatever behavior I exhibited against other vessels,” she added, thinking of her time in Greenpath. “I believe the infection was even getting to me. It will not happen again.”

_We understand no wrong in your actions. But w...I will try._

            Butler came back into the room with a fresh cloak for the vessel, as well as another for Hornet, as she’d gotten her current one rather soaked tending to her sibling. He’d predicted that. Hornet dressed herself, then dressed the vessel. “I think, then, I will call you Kin,” she told them.

            Kin looked back up at her. _Thank you._

            “You are very welcome. Now then, where were we?” Hornet swept across the room, closely followed. “Would you like to look out of the telescope? I can show you all the progress we’ve made on the City.”

 _I...would like that_ , signed Kin. _I would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas a little late and happy holidays, specifically kwanzaa for today if I'm correct! new chapter for y'all.


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